Goodbye
by Sela McGrane
Summary: "Minerva, please, come sit with me," Hermione requested, pointing to a comfortable looking chair on the left side of her bed, by which was a small table holding a pitcher of water, several glasses, and a box of tissues. This room was decorated for tears. - Rated M for part two. Warning: Character Death


**This is part one of a two shot I'm working on. I should have the second part done within the next couple of days. Before you start reading, you may want tissues. I needed them while writing it...**

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><p>She was almost glad that she was dying. At thirty-four, Hermione Granger lay in a bed at St. Mungo's, facing what would undoubtedly be the last few days of her life. When Madam Pomfrey had found the brain tumor, she had tried every magical means, consulting with every medi-wizard and witch that she knew, to find a cure. After that, she had looked into muggle methods. Even chemotherapy, the doctors had told her, would do nothing to save her, and only make her last months of life miserable.<p>

What did she have to live for, anyway? Hermione thought about her life, how she had been raised by loving muggle parents, only to have them killed during a magical wizarding war because they were _her_ parents. Though Ron had proposed marriage several dozen times over the years, she'd never agreed. It had only been last year when he'd found another witch to capture his heart, Darla, and for that, Hermione was glad.

Her own heart had been captured by the most unlikely of people. Hermione had realized she loved Professor Minerva McGonagall at the tender age of fifteen, and in all the years since, that feeling had never wavered. Rather, it had grown in depth as she and the older witch exchanged letters off and on. In those letters, Hermione had left subtle clues to indicate her feelings for her former teacher, but if Minerva had ever realized, she'd not said anything about it. They were nothing more than a teacher and student from days gone by and a war waged, whom kept in touch via a horde of similar interests.

Now, as the monitors beeped, letting the healers know that she was still breathing, Hermione realized that finally, she had nothing to lose by telling Minerva the truth. She pressed a button on her side table, and a minute later, Healer Harry Potter entered the room.

"You okay, 'Mione?" he asked tenderly.

"Would you get me some parchment and a quill?" she requested. "I'd like to write a letter."

Harry nodded, placing a hand gently on the blanket that covered her legs. "Of course. Be right back."

True to his word, only a few minutes later her dark haired friend returned with the requested items. He helped her sit up, and then conjured a lap desk for her to write on. "Thanks," she whispered, grimacing at the pounding in her head.

"I'll get you a pain potion," Harry offered, turning toward a cabinet on the other side of her private room.

"No," she ordered horsely. "I need to be clear headed to write this. In fact, I don't believe I'll be needing any more potions at all. If these are my last days, I want to be aware of them."

"I hate seeing you in pain," he muttered.

"It'll be over soon," she promised, knowing it would be.

_Dear Minerva, _she began to write as soon as Harry turned and left.

_Please don't be angry with Poppy for not telling you - I asked her not to - but some months ago I was diagnosed with brain cancer. Every avenue of treatment has been explored, but nothing can be done..._

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><p>Minerva McGonagall looked down in shock at the letter before her. Hermione...her sweet, sweet Hermione, was dying.<p>

… _My condition is terminal. Harry and Poppy say I've got perhaps days left, so in light of that, there's something I needed to say to you, before I no longer can. _

_I am in love with you. I've hinted as much in our correspondences over the years, but if you ever realized, you have not said so. I know that it's asking a lot, but before I die, I want to see you. One last time. We don't even have to talk about how I feel. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I just… need to see you. Please. _

_Love always,_

_Hermione Jean Granger_

Tears fell down the Headmistress of Hogwarts' cheeks and a choked sob escaped her lips, causing the collection of portraits in her office to look at her. "I'm sorry," she muttered, glancing at them.

"Whatever is the matter, Minerva?" Albus asked, deep concern in his eyes. He had always known her best of anyone, and as such, he knew that it took a great deal to make her cry.

"Hermione is dying," she whispered numbly. "Brain cancer."

"Oh...Minerva…" he uttered, knowing exactly what that meant, and why his dear friend was presently sitting in the company of devastation.

The older witch had realized some years ago they her protege had romantic feelings toward her. As such, she had determined at the time that she felt nothing in return, and therefore was content to just ignore the continuing signs, hoping for the younger woman's sake that in time, she'd find someone else to capture her heart. It was a hope that she had clung to for several years after her discovery.

Then, things changed not long after the war ended. Even though they didn't exchange letters often, and even less frequently saw each other socially, Minerva's feelings had changed on the matter. Even from a distance, she had grown to love Hermione Granger with a soul consuming passion which she had never before felt. All the younger witch had needed to do was exist, and suddenly, the cold and lonely Headmistress had a heart again.

It mattered not, though. Hermione wasn't hers to take, nor was Minerva the younger woman's to have. She was bound to this castle, no different than if she was a married woman. One did not get the power to control the wards of Hogwarts without a price. That price, she'd realized nearly a year too late, was a steep one. To walk away would mean the loss of her magic, and more importantly, the loss of centuries old protection spells which not only protected the school from attack, but held the ancient castle together. Hogwarts must have a Head, or the school would fall.

Half and hour after receiving Hermione's letter, Minerva found her deputy in the staffroom, flipping through the latest edition of _Charms Weekly_. "Filius," she said quietly.

The small statured man looked up, and noticed her red eyes at once. "What's happened?" he asked.

"I need to leave the castle for a several days," she said. "It is a...personal matter."

"Hermione?" he asked gently.

Minerva wasn't even surprised that he both knew of their former student's condition, nor that he had guessed her feelings for the woman in question. "The Healers don't expect her to last more than another seventy-two hours."

"Three days…" Filius choked. "Minerva, after all these years of withholding your feelings...will you tell her?"

The Headmistress bowed her head. "No harm can come by it at this point. She… she deserves to know she's not alone… and how sorry I am that… gods, she'll be so angry with me."

"Never," her deputy said firmly. "I very much doubt that Hermione even knows how to be angry with you. It goes against her nature to do anything but love you."

"Much as I couldn't stop myself from falling in love with her," Minerva whispered.

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><p>The moment Minerva McGonagall tapped lightly on her door and peeked her head inside the room, Hermione's headache vanished. "You came," she said, smiling gently.<p>

"How could I not?" the older witch asked, tears beginning to fall.

Hermione knew that if nothing else, Minerva cared for her as a friend, and so tears were no surprise to her. She'd already seen many of Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ginny's. "Minerva, please, come sit with me," she requested, pointing to a comfortable looking chair on the left side of her bed, by which was a small table holding a pitcher of water, several glasses, and a box of tissues. This room was decorated for tears.

"I got your letter," Minerva said quietly, taking a seat folding her hands on her lap.

"I surmised as much, since you're here," Hermione quipped.

Minerva laughed a little, and it made the younger witch's eyes light up. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me laugh," Minerva elaborated. "Even Albus wasn't so adept at getting me to smile."

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Lucky how?"

"To be the reason for your smile," she replied. "Though I can tell I've been reason for tears for you today as well."

"You're dying!" Minerva exclaimed. "Of course I'm bloody crying! The woman I love...is dying."

Hermione was shocked into silence, but not for long. She didn't have time to weigh and balance what the right and wrong things to say were. Questions had to be asked, and so she asked them. "How long?" she choked out.

"Fourteen years, two months," the older witch uttered, "and nine days."

Hermione exhaled slowly, allowing a fraction of a minute to adjust to the notion that Minerva McGonagall _loved_ her, and had for _years_. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because the price of our happiness would have cost the Wizarding world more than it could afford," Minerva answered. "As the Head is bound to Hogwarts, and broken away by any means other than death would result in the school collapsing into ruin."

"Sweet Merlin," Hermione gasped. "I had no idea."

"The enchantments on the castle weaken upon the loss of a Head, and it takes time to get back to full strength with a new Head," Minerva went on, anticipating Hermione's curiosity on the subject. "That's why Riddle needed Albus dead - because had he attacked Hogwarts prior to a recent change in Headship, he would not have been able to break through the wards. Elder wand or no."

"Fascinating," the younger woman muttered. "Anyway, what now?" she asked after a pause. "I have days to live, and I want to spend as much of that time as I can with you. How long before Hogwarts considers you…"

"It's not about time away," Minerva tried to explain, "but rather about physical intimacy. The mixing of magical signatures ejects the bond with Hogwarts."

"My magic is gone," Hermione said, understanding dawning on her. "I'm nothing but a muggle now."

"Hermione…"

"I have no magical signature left, Minerva," she persisted, willing the older witch to understand her meaning.

It didn't take long. "Oh…"

A pale hand reached out and took hold of Minerva's calloused one. Hermione looked her former professor in the eye. "Kiss me?" she asked.

Minerva looked at her intently for a moment. "Will Harry let me take you to the Manor?" she asked.

Hermione frowned, unsure where Minerva was going with her inquiry. That said, she trusted the older witch beyond all else, so she answered. "There's nothing they can do for me here. I don't see why not."

"Then let me take you home," Minerva said, squeezing her hand, "And I shall do more that kiss you."

Both of them knew that Hermione was too weak for any extraneous activities, but that really didn't matter. Minerva wanted to be close to her, for as long as she could, and Hermione wanted the same. She could think of no better way to die than in the arms of the woman she'd loved for most of her life. "Go find Harry," she whispered.

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><p><strong>Please review. *sniffles*<strong>


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